Fighter
by mjbaerman
Summary: 'Despite it all, she was a fighter. He was counting on it.' Takes place before the last racing circuit in Jak X.


**I don't own Jak & Daxter. I'm just playing in Naughty Dog's sandbox.**

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Keira was many things: a tomboy, a mechanic, an uppity and bold young woman, a genius, an inventor, a loyal friend. She was also _not_ many things: a coward, a pushover, stupid, gullible, or preoccupied with the world's standards of what a woman should be.

These were all reasons to like the aqua-haired woman – a lot – as far as Jak was concerned. There were lots of other reasons he was sure he'd come up with later, too.

If they lived to see later.

The poison coursing through everyone's veins was a ticking time bomb to the end. It wasn't as if Jak hadn't experienced working on a deadline to save other peoples' back ends along with his own, but this situation was different for (big surprise here) a lot of reasons. They were all reasons that made him nervous, and he hated being nervous. For a man not easily shaken after all he'd seen, and all he'd been through, there were still some very distinct situations that made his mouth dry and his hands tremble.

They were trembling right now, and it made him deeply, secretly angry. He set down the coffee mug he was holding, wincing when it clacked on the metal work table and made his eardrums shudder. Most sounds were too much right now, at least for him. The whole team suffered the poison symptoms worse at night, when they had to get their prep work done before turning in for the night. By morning, it would feel as if it hadn't happened at all. But that made each night a horrible reminder of their slow death sentence.

Jak turned to look at a pair of shapely legs sticking out from under his vehicle.: Keira. On a level, he was glad she was here despite how awkward he tended to be around her. On the other hand, he was furious that she had been dragged into this mess. Therein lay one of the many reasons that made him nervous.

She was in danger, too, in a way that relocation couldn't fix.

Knowing she might die too made his palms sweaty on random occasions. Now being one of them. It also made him furious, made the darker facet of himself roar and claw at his mind and give him migraines and a mood as dark as half the eco running through his system. It made him more vicious on the circuits, made him less tolerable of cameras in his face and threats whispered by morons who thought he had a limit to what he was capable of.

Keira bent her spine sideways to glance at him without coming out from under the car, and Jak tilted his head to meet her gaze. He would have thought it cute on any other occasion. She smiled weakly at him.

"You can go hang with the others, Jak, I got this."

"Oh, I know you do," he replied. "I'd rather hang out here, if it's all the same to you."

"Dax is sure to be missing you," she replied. She was trying to get him out anyway, as he had expected.

"He'll survive." He grinned at her. She seemed to ease a little bit, but the worry line didn't leave her brow – he could tell even with the shadow of the chassis and his vision slightly out of focus.

"All right, if you insist," she said lightly, and went back to work.

He knew she minded his company. And there was a reason he was insisting on this. A reason that made Jak's skin crawl – both with fury and with a horrible, gut-wrenching fear.

Torn had cornered him that morning, looking paler and angrier than usual. The blonde remember the conversation all too well.

"_Jak! Were you with Keira at all last night?"_

"…_Yeah, why?"_

"_How late?" Torn insisted, pulling him into the corner of the gathering room, out of earshot. _

"_What's this about, Torn?" Jak demanded quietly. His eyes darted about, distrustful of their privacy when the purple-suited buffoon was sharking around for stories all the time. _

"_I checked on Ashelin last night after the worst of my sickness passed. She was… hurting, Jak. Badly. At first I thought the poison was faster-acting for her, so I did some research. Turns out the plant used for the base of the poison acts differently depending on gender."_

"_Wait, acts differently how? If we need the antidote faster –"_

"_No, it's not like that," Torn was quick to shush the young warrior, and he checked over his shoulder for eavesdroppers or – Mar forbid, the ladies themselves. "It won't kill them any faster it's just… The night sickness gets a lot worse for women as they poison progresses. Has something to do with the way it bonds to certain chemicals in the blood. Mixes with their hormones and breaks them down to act like a neurotoxin or something like that."_

_The men were stoic for a long moment. Ashelin may have been a warrior in her own right, and Keira one of the toughest people they knew, but the men shared a basic and undeniable instinct: protect. What could they do to protect the girls from something they couldn't control? The helplessness that welled up toyed dangerously with their pride, threatened their very purpose on a deep and secret level._

"_Has this been going on the whole time?" Jak asked lowly._

"_I don't think so," Torn crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back and forth on his feet. "Far as I can tell it's been a recent development. The final circuit is coming up. I think we should stick around with them at night until we win this thing. The least we can do is help them prep so that we have a better chance of winning."_

_Jak knew how to read between the lines. Torn would probably never say it out loud, but the men had to protect their women; it was an unspoken law. So make it about the races, that was fine with him. He could play dummy until he saw the symptoms for himself. _

_He'd be damned if he let Keira suffer through this alone._

So he stayed in the garage with his best non-furry friend. He weathered through his own sickness – endured the hypersensitivity to light and sound, the trembling hands, the exploding migraine, the cottonmouth…

And he was terrified.

His whole life, through thick and thin, Keira had been there – either from the beginning, or when he needed her most. They had taken turns disappointing each other, and adjusting to what life had to throw at them, and coming out better and stronger for it.

Never once, since the day Samos adopted her (and he vaguely remembered that, too) had she been in more physical danger than she was right then, in that very moment, while he quietly watched her work her mechanical magic under his racer. And Jak was just sitting there, _waiting_ for it to happen. For a man that had saved the world thrice, his idleness spoke against his nature so strongly it was almost a physical hurt. It made him want to do something – anything – to just move. Something reckless and exciting. He breathed deep to squash a mild wave of lust, as all men have to do on occasion. At least _that_ part of him was perfectly healthy. But this sitting still business, waiting for her to hurt…

This was so _wrong_.

"Hey, Keira, why don't you take a break?" Jak found himself saying. He eyed the clock on the far wall, squinting against the bright lights to make out the numbers. He had to wonder when the signs would get worse for her, and what on earth he could do except be there to watch over her and assure her safety as much as his own sickness would allow.

"I'm on a roll, Jak," she replied, though her grainy lilt sounded tight to him. He knew that tone – could imagine the expression on her face from the sound alone (as spending most of your life listening to others tends to ingrain such a skill). That was the same voice she used to assure him she was fine right after dropping a wrench on her hand.

"You sure about that?" He knew he was pushing it. He knew he might make her mad if he kept at her, but he was determined not to miss a single sign.

"Yes, I'm sure," she quipped. A tool clattered to the floor – to which Jak flinched – and her expectant hand peeked out from under the chassis. "Hand me the half-bow spanner, would you?"

"Which one is that?" he lied. He wanted to get her out from under the car so he could get a descent look at her face.

"You know which one," she snapped, calling his bluff.

"I don't' see it." Which was true, because he wasn't looking for it.

"If you're going to be an ass, then just _leave_!" But her last word was squeaked, not yelled. With a choking gasp, Keira all but disappeared under the car. Jak crossed the garage and was by the car before he registered the clash of pavement under his boots.

His foot was on Keira's dolly before she could disappear entirely, rolling her out from under the chassis. And _Mar_, she was convulsing. She turned her face away from the garage lights, but there was no denying the tension in her entire frame – he was too familiar with it.

She was in agony.

Without considering the wisdom of it, Jak bent down – ignoring the increased pounding in his head – and scooped her carefully off the dolly. Keira cried out, but whether it was the movement or his touch, he couldn't be sure. Either way, it grated against what little soul he had left.

Jak had to fight a dizzy spell as he carried her to the couch. He was vividly reminded of a moment in their childhood when, after watching her tumble off one of the short cliffs by the beach, a ten-year-old Jak carried Keira all the way home.

This was not home. This was not a matter of skinned knees or a bump on the head.

This was a crime-ridden city full of angry racers and robot assassins. This was a matter of life and death.

Jak lowered her to the musty cushions as gently as his shaking limbs would allow. Keira clenched a fistful of his shirt to stay half-upright. For lack of any better ideas, the dark warrior gently shushed her, fingers cradling the back of her neck as he laid her down. She wouldn't ease her grip, and he ended up kneeling on the hard floor beside her.

He could do nothing more than watch while she writhed in pain and choked on the air. This looked so much like the neurotoxin from the canopy snakes in the Forbidden Jungle. Giddily, Jak wondered if those snakes still existed these centuries later. And then the thought was gone from his fevered mind.

He didn't understand why this was happening. Didn't understand why it had to be happening to _her._ Why not him? Half his nerve endings were screwed up anyway, and he was used to pain – to soul-shriveling agony and the way such feelings could bleed out from the physical to poison the emotional.

Would touching her in this state make her cringe away from his hands later?

He couldn't worry about that even if he wanted to. Right now, not being here seemed more like killing her than the risk of hurting her in the throes of trying to help.

In a way, though, he was killing her. It was his fault. She was there because of him. She was always there…

Keira bit back on a keening cry and turned her face against his chest. Her knuckles, buried in his shirt, trembled and turned white. The grease stains on the white fabric would probably be permanent. He couldn't bring himself to care about that either.

Her free arm wrapped around her middle. Her legs curled up, a guarding instinct against pain. Jak couldn't help but remember how miserable and curled-up she had looked years ago, when she experienced her first "monthly gift". (The speech Samos had given all three children that day still ranked in Jak's mind as one of the most excruciating experiences of his life.)

His trembling hands hovered for a moment before daring to rest feather-light upon her shoulder and crown. She didn't flinch from him, but that didn't mean mere touches weren't hurting her. So many familiarities and none of them related and he was already so sick-feeling and confused.

Neurotoxins, monthly cycles, a cross between the two – what was this?! Jak licked his dry lips and spoke, barely beyond the volume of her stuttering, muffled moans.

"Keir, what's wrong?" Really stupid question, but if it got her talking, maybe he could distract her from the pain a little bit.

"Nothing," she gasped. His immediate response was "tuh!", but she shook her head against his chest, trying to breathe deep through her nose. Her whole body tensed further for a long moment, but when she finally relaxed a bit she was speaking in breathy clutches.

"I mean… 's not life threat'ning… just… it'll pass…" She gasped for a while. Jak glided his thumb over her temple to ward away a trickle of sweat. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye, watching him watch her.

Why her? Why did it have to be an enemy he couldn't fight? Why couldn't he take the pain for her?

Slim, trembling fingers embraced his stubbled cheek, and he blinked down at her.

"Because, Jak," she whispered – was it selfish to feel comforted that she could still read his silence like an open book? – "Just because."

There was so much weight behind those few words – so much unspoken connotation that he wanted to understand. In that moment, his head hurt too much and weighed too little to let him comprehend, and it angered him.

One thing was coming through crystal clear, though: Jak was underestimating her.

Keira was weathering it out as best she could. On at least one other night she had gone through this and came the next day as if nothing had happened. She and Ashelin had kept it from the team as if the problem didn't even exist. Keira was nose to the grindstone and pulling off some of her finest work yet.

She had survived two years in Haven City at its worst with no one to protect her, and she still managed to make a name for herself. So what was this to her? Who was he to judge whether or not she could handle it?

Didn't mean he had to like it, but at least he could better tolerate it while the poison went its course.

Another wave washed through Keira, making her squirm and stifle her cries in his chest. He could feel the ragged vibrations through his ribs, and it _hurt_. It hurt to know there was nothing he could do to immediately stop it.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted, frustrated more than angry now. The words _I need to help you_ didn't have to be spoken aloud. She was quiet, holding her breath until the worst pain passed. When she met his eyes, panting, he couldn't tell if the color in her cheeks was from battling the pain, or if she was blushing as she processed a request.

Suddenly he wanted to kiss her so badly. Wanted to shove his tongue into her mouth and make her gasp for him, growl into her ear all the things he planned to do–

Well, his blood heading south both helped his migraine and reaffirmed his penchant for horrible timing. Keira gasped out a giggle, and Jak covered his eyes, feeling the hot rush of embarrassment in his cheeks. There were times her ability to read his face so well was not beneficial to him. At all.

"Hey," she whispered between panting breaths. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and pulled. She made him look at her. "You remember in Sandover, right before Daddy gave us 'the flut-birds and the whumpbees' speech?"

He did – crystal clear, as a matter of fact. Samos had caught Jak trying to ease Keira's discomfort, and that had led to the big speech.

"Could you just… hold me like that again?"

Jak felt his face soften. That he could do. Keira didn't let go of his shirt until he nodded. Mindful of his own dizziness, he scooped her up again and sat down on the couch, tucking his legs Indian-style under him. He settled her in the well of his lap, curvy legs draped over one thigh, and pressed her upper body against his chest. She tucked her crown under her chin, and her sweet breath ghosted over his collarbone even through his shirt. He knew this whole untimely lusting problem could be blamed, at least in part, on the time-bomb that flowed through the veins of the entire team. One rarely felt so alive as when their life was on the line, after all.

"I want to kiss you," he quietly blurted. For a split second he considered being mortified by his sudden inability to keep words _in_. At this point he wouldn't have minded being selectively mute. But with a sigh he realized the was no point. If he didn't voice his thoughts now, he risked the chance of never saying them _ever._

"I know," she breathed. One large hand began rubbing her back soothingly, just as he had done all that time ago. She was fisting his shirt again, and he could feel her tension building. "Maybe later."

_After we've won._

He would hold her to that unspoken promise. And in the morning, she would do everything in her power to hold him to his.

He would win, not on his own, but with her. So he stayed there on the couch with her, and watched over her while she fought the agony the poison brought her.

Jak was reminded, not for the first time, that despite her deceptive presence, Keira was not a woman to be trifled with. Despite her softness, the resolve beneath the exterior was solid as Precursor metal. Despite her fluttering focus, she could lob a wrench 75 yards without a warning and hit her target dead on. Despite her flighty-girl act, her mind was light years ahead of everyone else's.

Despite everything, she could throw down with the best of the best; and she did. Despite it all, Keira was a fighter.

And Jak was counting on that.

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**My first foray into the Jak and Daxter fanfic world. I've been a fan of this game series for many years. I have started and not-finished several fanfictions for it along the way, too - it was, in fact, one of the first worlds I ever wrote fanfiction for! **

**Well, I sat down this past week to play a little J&D over spring break - dusted off the PS2 console and controller, just to goof around for an afternoon and relax. I'm a terrible gamer when it comes to racing, but it's not for lack of trying. This fic idea popped up like an oversized dust bunny from under the bed and would not leave me alone.**

**So today, instead of preparing for my night class like I should be, I wrote this. I sort of have a problem with how strongly Keira's character was presented in the first couple games, and then she got the short end of the stick (Jak 3) and then she started throwing herself BODILY in Jak's direction (Jak X). I guess this is me messing around to make my brain a little happier with the canon pairing. Not my best work - just a fun little skip, hop and a jump through the Naughty Dog playground.**

**Thanks for reading! Revews = love.**

**~mj**


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